I like to do laundry. I particularly love making the bed really quick with warm sheets, throwing on warm jammies and then diving under the covers all cozy while the room without is uncomfortably cold. That’s the best.
I like to start the washing machine, pour in the detergent while leaning over to get a good whiff of soapy perfume. I love to throw things in there that probably shouldn’t go. Like the handwash cardigan or the turquoise dress (in with the white towels. Yep. Bad call.). I like the sense of accomplishment I get every time I slam the lid shut. WHAMrattlerattle, now things are happening. Now there’s going to be real progress. I also like to move the stuff from the washer into the dryer and turn that on. And I love the sound that both machines make while running in tandem. Sounds…homey.
That said, I hate – HATE – folding laundry.
My clothes will never be wrinkle free so long as I’m in charge of folding them myself. Fortunately, this is why God invented dryers. Five minutes in that bad-boy with a damp cloth and my clothes emerge looking like they were folded and pressed by Jeeves himself. I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this, but please allow me to spell it out – my clothes spend the majority of their lives in the dryer. I tend to run it for about ten minutes every morning and pull out what I need. Inefficient, lazy and maybe even weird – yes. But guess who prances around in warm clothes first thing in the morning when it’s 22 degrees outside and manages to love life even when life doesn’t deserve it = mmm-me.
Keeping clothes in the dryer does have it’s downside. It creates a bottle-neck in the whole laundry system which eventually just leaves you with the dry-clean only stuff and the mis-matched sheets for the bed.
I think the technical term for how much dirty laundry I’d accrued by last weekend is “crap-ton” Once you reach crap-ton levels of dirty laundry, it’s time to suck it up and fold whatever’s left in the dryer (after turning the dryer on for ten minutes, of course…because this is what I do).
After the first load, the apartment had gone from a nippy 47 degrees to a balmy 72. The second load of laundry made the windows weepy with condensation and by the third load I was walking around in shorts, opening the outside doors and wondering what-the-hell.
Turns out that the silver thingy that shoots all of the muggy rainforest air from the dryer to the world outside had a huge rip in it. And was also falling off. When I dragged the dryer away from the wall, there was so much lint piled up that I was able to scoop the majority up with my bare hands. It’s basically a miracle that I haven’t died in a massive firebomb and craterized half the county. Will have to buy a new silver tube thing. Today was my first day of room temperature clothes after the shower and let me just tell you that getting dressed was not enjoyable in the slightest. I hated life all day and life definitely deserved it.
I’m thinking of this now because it would be so great to put my nightie in the dryer, just for a second. Now that I know my dryer is one big fire hazard though, it would probably erupt into flames. My innocent ignorance of this even being a possibility is probably the only thing that’s saved me up until now. So there it is. I’ll live to see another day, in spite of myself.